Something Special, But Something Broken
by valkyrie11235
Summary: The mind is a treacherous place. Illusions its specialty, and memory its weapon. Warnings: Sam/Dean; Wincest
1. This Burden We Share

Warnings: Sam/Dean; Wincest

Sam had been eighteen when he had first met Dean, the other boy had been quiet and had mostly kept to himself. Dean had intrigued him. He was different from the rest.

Unlike all the others, Sam couldn't peg Dean, and it infuriated the young boy.

Each and every glance Dean sent Sam's way had a mischievous and knowing look, it had haunted Sam. Dean knew something about Sam and Sam was dying to know what it was.

It was near the end of the school year that Sam had approached Dean. Dean had been standing lazily by the door, ready to leave the second the bell sounded. His hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his lips.

"What is it with you?" Sam had ventured. His tone harsh, but contained. He brought a hand to pull a strand of brown hair behind his ear giving him a full view of the boy before him.

"What do you mean?" Had been the indifferent reply.

"I um, well, you know." Sam had mumbled halfheartedly. Perhaps out of pity, Dean had bowed his head in resignation and motioned Sam closer.

"You're my brother." The words had been barely audible, whispered directly into his ear. Sam's face had flushed at the proximity. His heart beating loud in his chest.

"I—what?" His face contorted in confusion and he took a step black to appraise Dean's words.

"Shocked me too." Something flashed in Dean's eyes, but it was quickly masked. "I just wished I could have known you better Sammy."

With those words, Dean turned on his heels and left, the bell signifying the end of the school day rung mere moments after Dean had departed.

Sam had been left to stare in his wake, mouth slightly ajar and his ears tinged a bright pink. A variation of different thoughts filling his now muddied mind.

The rest of the week dragged on with little interaction between the two boys. After all, they hardly knew each other and rarely spoke. That moment they had had in the threshold of the door had been one of the few occasions that they had spoken to each other.

Their interactions had been left mostly to strange glances and awkward, mumbled phrases. Hardly anything to constitute friendship.

It wouldn't be until a week later that they would speak again. Sam had spent the entire time contemplating what Dean had told him. Going back and forth between the SOB was playing mind games with him, or the idiot was telling the truth.

Either choice equally daunting.

Dean had been standing right outside the door to the back of the school. A leather jacket on, tinted sunglasses obscuring his line of sight. Sam had wandered out the back for a few moments of solace when he spotted Dean.

In a rare moment of courage, he had decided to approach the older boy. He went to stand a few feet from Dean and something seemed to change.

Dean took one confident stride forward, making the distance between the two mere inches. In a single movement Dean removed his sunglasses and his eyes lingered on Sam's face.

Sam stood stalk still, scared to ruin the moment. His heart raging inside his chest.

"Sammy." The single word had barely been uttered before Sam had closed the distance, their lips meeting.

Everything seemed to spin for a few moments, their tongues fighting for dominance. A strange dance between battling wills. Dean's hand came up to cup the side of Sam's face and Sam leaned into the touch.

Basking in the warmth. Before anything more could be done, Dean stepped back. A look of shame briefly worked its way onto his features before his features became stoic again.

"I am glad." Dean paused, but then the pause became more of the finishing of a sentence.

With a strange mixture of emotions Sam questioned, "Glad about what?"

A sad smile graced Dean's features, his eyes seemed to soften, "Glad you got this other life Sammy."

Dean bought his lips to softly brush against Sam's forehead before the boy turned and jumped into the passenger seat of a car a few meters away.


	2. Maybe in Another Life

Warnings: Sam/Dean; Wincest

The years had not been kind to Dean. After leaving schooling to become a full apprentice to his father, his life had seemed to move in slow motion.

Monsters were everywhere and nowhere, and nothing really seemed to matter at all. He remembered when his father had told him he had a brother. Dean smiled in feigned fondness.

"Dean," his father had spoken one night. Dean, the obedient son, had nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Yeah."

"I wasn't sure, but I am now. That boy from school, Sam. He's your brother Dean." His voice had been gruff, unremorseful. Dean in a mixture of shock and denial had let a whole body laugh erupt form his frame.

"Yeah sure, and God exists. Jesus, what are you playing at." The teen had commented.

"I mean it Dean. Your mother and I, we had another son; but things had gotten complicated then. Your mother, she was everything." He paused in grief.

"When I lost her I was hardly able to care for one child. You were older then, but Sam; he was so young. If anyone had a chance to survive it was him."

And in a moment, Dean understood. Dean knew why his father had given Sam up. The life they live, well it's no life at all. Sam would make it out for all of them, that would be enough.

And for the last decade or so it had been. Dean had learned to be a hunter, and he prided himself on being a damn good one; but every so often he would let his mind drift to what it could have been.

A brother, someone to depend on. Someone to have around when shit hits the fan; because it always did. Sometimes he would dream of what it would be like to have a brother, to have Sam around- other times he would dream up Sam's better life.

Most often, he would dream up a life with him and Sam together and happy. No monsters, no killing; just, ordinary life.

It was fake, and Dean knew it, but every so often; on the days were the darkness seemed to eat him alive, he would indulge in the thoughts.

Maybe in another life they could have been brothers, maybe in another life they could have been more.

This was Dean's reality, monsters lurking in corners and no one but himself to rely on. His dad had died not too long ago, and the wounds were still fresh; but there was no time to mourn when at war.

And that was Dean's life, a war zone.

It was in late August, that Dean had found himself in his hometown. A string of strange murders had brought the hunter to the area. It was surreal to be back, bittersweet and somewhat wrong.

He was holed up in yet another crappy motel, something cheap with no one to ask unwanted questions. It was functional and it worked.

At dawn, Dean had woken from a fitful sleep- he had trouble sleeping in general. His face was worn from the lack of sleep, but he was determined to start the day. Sleep deprivation be damned.

By 9:00 am he was at a young widow's home, hoping to gain some insight on her husband's murder.

"Ma'am I am officer James Tucker. I was hoping to speak to you about your husband." The teary eyed woman was in her late forties, her face fare. Her long auburn hair shown in the sun, and her grey eyes mirrored the sadness she felt.

"Yes of course." She motioned for Dean to enter. He walked cautiously into the home before he was graciously led to a sitting area.

"Can you tell me about what happened?"

She seemed to think a moment before replying, "It was strange. One moment he's my loving husband and the next something has come over him. He was an entirely different man. I—" She paused.

"It's okay," Dean mentioned, "did you smell or hear anything out of the ordinary? Something that seems unimportant?"

"Well," she paused briefly in thought, "It was unusually cold. With the summer approaching it was odd for the house to feel so cool. I suppose I hardly realized till now, I guess I was just happy the house wasn't boiling hot."

Dean nodded his head and jotted a few things down on his notepad.

"Does that help? I am sorry, maybe that was stupid to say. I um-" She said, her voice held a slight quiver. Before she could continue Dean gave her a reassuring smile.

"Yes, thank you for your time. Every little detail helps." He nodded his head, gave her a firm handshake and was led back toward the door in which he had entered.

He stepped through the threshold and let a small smile pull at his lips to sooth the woman. He looked back at her, nodded his head and began his walk to his car. Already theorizing what could have caused such destruction.

Nothing he had ever dealt with before came to mind. He was about to enter his car when he lifted his gaze and caught sight of someone staring at him.

Something resembling annoyance crossed his features and he dipped his head to look over his sunglasses, his gaze met someone who seemed familiar.

Perhaps it was the way the man stalked toward him, or the man's shaggy hair that reminded him, but when he met the man's eyes he knew- this man was Sam.

He haphazardly dropped his id and badge into his seat via the window and strode confidently toward his brother. Sam stood before him, his eyes transfixed on Dean's every move.

After they had shared a kiss, Dean had vanished. Nearly dropped off the face of the earth, and believe him, Sam had looked. After a while, searching for Dean had become a kind of game.

A hobby of sorts. Something to pass the time. Sam had never put much thought into why he had been so committed to find Dean, there was just something urging him to find Dean.

Ironically, out of no favor toward Sam's doing, he had run into him. Dean was here and Sam was struck with how much older he looked. It had been so long.

Sam gave an awkward smile. His head was slightly lowered and his hair fell to obscure his features. When Dean was close enough, he reached up to gently remove the hair from his brother's face, revealing a shy but genuine smile.

"I thought I would never see you again." Sam whispered. His voice barely breaking the silence. The sun gave light and in the brooding sun the two brother stood and stared at each other, taking everything in; trying to commit it all to memory.

"I know." Was Dean's cocky remark. Sam was about to reply when Dean continued, "I am sorry Sammy, but this," he gestured between to two, "whatever this is, it won't work."

"But you don't even, you don't-" Sam went to rebuttal, but was cut off when Dean interjected flatly.

"No Sammy. Maybe in another life time. But my life," a foul, crooked smile danced on his lips, "it's messed up. You got out Sammy, and I am glad." The smile faded.

"Plus you're my brother, whether we acted like it or not, and anything beyond that is wrong." The words hung in the air like a strange kind of command and a few seconds turned to minutes.

Silence reigned, and before more words could be spoken Sam stepped forward into Dean's personal space. His hands came up to grasp at Dean's worn, leather jacket and he brought his lips to Dean's.

It was wrong, bet felt anything but; everything was jumbled in his head now. Life was messy.

Hard to determine who let out the throaty growl, but Sam could guess it wasn't him. He let his hands roam the muscular body and he leaned into the warm embrace. Their bodies fitted together effortlessly.

Dean's hand threaded through Sam's hair and Sam let out a groan. His mouth opening slightly, giving Dean permission to enter.

The pair broke apart, both gasping for air and both flushed with desire. As Sam looked into Dean's eyes he watched as his body became ridged and he stepped back.

A look of sudden resolve solidified itself on his face and Dean took a few more steps backward. He shook his head slightly, and gave a smirk toward Sam.

"I meant what I said," and with that he was gone. Just like before, leaving Sam alone and in the dark.


	3. Give Me Your Secrets, They Can Be Mine

Warnings: Sam/Dean; Wincest

Dean had regretted approaching Sam almost immediately. He had given in to temptation and was wishing he hadn't. He knew there was something between Sam and him that he couldn't deny; but he knew that his life was dangerous.

It was a life not meant for any attachments, and that was exactly what Sam would be. He was no hunter, and in Dean's line of work inexperience got people killed. He'd be damned if he let Sam fall victim to the monstrosities of his life.

Dean had made his mind up- he would let Sam go for his own sake. Sam deserved better, he had better.

Those where the thoughts that haunted the hunter as he drove away, without sparing a glance back at the man he had left behind.

He had a job to do, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. He drove back to where he was staying and upon arrival jumped unceremoniously onto the bed. He felt exhausted.

See Sam had brought on a sense of inner turmoil the Winchester was not in the mood to deal with. Dean shook the thoughts of Sam from his head and brought out his computer. He had work to do.

A few hours later, Dean would be sprawled out on the bed, completely asleep. The computer all but forgotten to his right, screen still open but dark.

A swift knock at the door resided in the small room, abruptly waking Dean from his light sleep. He stood, straightened his shirt and grabbed a knife from the nightstand, readying his stance.

Dean cracked the door open, peeking out only to find Sam standing before him. The kid's face was distressed, his hands fiddling with a coin. Upon seeing Dean, a nervous chuckled resided.

"I uh, well." Sam seemed to stop and gather himself before he started again. "I uh, thought we should talk?" The statement came out as more of a question and Dean opened the door to allow Sam entrance.

"Sure," was Dean's off handed reply. He walked further into the room sure that Sam would follow.

"Why can't this work?" The naïve question shocked Dean. The hunter stopped midstride and spared a look back.

Sam was standing near the door, his back stiff with tension. He was leaning on the door frame as if that was all that was holding him up, one hand in his pants pocket the other rubbing at his neck.

He seemed so young in that brief moment, so innocent; and for a second Dean resented him for that. Sam had been given a life Dean could only dream of- but Dean quickly chided himself.

He reminded himself he loved what he did, and he would rather be aware of the demons lurking in the dark than in a state of blissful happiness.

The silence dragged on a few more moments before Sam began to shift uncomfortably. In a ditch hope to ease the tension Dean spoke cautiously.

"For one, we're brothers." Sam seemed to drop his gaze to floor at this statement. Saying it aloud seemed to make it more real.

"And second, our lives they just," Dean paused searching for words, "it just won't work." Is what he settled on saying.

Sam stepped forward and his eyes met Dean's. Dean could feel Sam's breath strong and rhythmic. Dean closed his eyes and for a moment, let himself enjoy the moment.

"Then let's make this moment count." Sam's voice was earnest, uncertain but eager none the less.

"Fuck it," came Dean's reply before he closed the distance. Their bodies collided in a fit of passion and hunger. The kisses started rough, filled with need and longing.

Hands roamed about each of their bodies, limbs mingled together. They fit, it was the world laughing at them. They fit together, but were never really going to stay that way.

It took moments before clothing had been shed, laying disorganized about the small motel room. Shirts and pants laying scattered about the area.

Everything happened so fast. Despite either of their knowledge they had ended up on the bed, bodies pressed firmly together; warmth radiating from their unified form.

This was it, this was what they were left to have. One night, one night and nothing more; because this strange and alternate reality was nothing more than fiction. A trick of the mind.

A trick that a sleep deprived, starved, and tortured mind could compile. An illusion that had been lived many times before, one which left an aching of pain deep and everlasting.

Dean woke to a voice, a voice he knew… Sam his mind concluded.

"Dean? Dean are you with me?" Sam's words seemed to blend together, and Dean realize his eyes were closed. Despite the discomfort, Dean opened his eyes to meet the worried glance of his brother.

Concern was evident in the young Winchester's face. Something was wrong, but Dean couldn't find it in himself to realize what was wrong exactly.

"Hey, you with me?" Sam said again. His voice held an edge to it that Dean's muddied mind couldn't understand.

"Hmmm," Dean murmured.

"Dean, you've been missing for days. What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was ragged with distress. It was then that Dean realized he was chained and in a dark cellar of sorts.

Disorientated and confused the brother shook his head in an attempt to clear his foggy mind.

"Dean we need to leave, like now." The urgency in his brother's voice led his body to start into motion. Everything seemed to fall back into place.

The alternate illusion that had been playing over and over, was nothing more than a faint feeling of loss and longing that carried no memory to place much reason behind such feelings; but the feelings were real all the same.

Both brothers made it out of that abandoned place, like they usually and always do; but something happened in there that left Dean broken. Like something inside him had finally snapped, but he couldn't remember which part had broken leaving him unable to fix it.

But this was no time to ponder feelings and what ifs- the supernatural world was slowing eating away at humanity and the Winchester's had a job to do.


End file.
